


Well, Maybe I'm in Love

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service RPF
Genre: M/M, Pining, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7116508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today, while pouring himself a quick bowl of cereal, Taron plugs in his mobile for a quick charge to check to see which scenes he’s shooting today and freezes at two words:</p><p>Train tracks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well, Maybe I'm in Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scandalmuss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scandalmuss/gifts).



> This goes out to Scandalmuss, one of the five people who won my 500 follower fic giveaway on tumblr and who asked for “train tracks + pining” for either hartwin or firtherton. I swore I’d never write another firtherton oneshot, but here we go. (As always, apologies to Colin Firth and Taron Egerton.)
> 
> This is the last one; I swear. 
> 
> Title comes from Counting Crows' "Accidentally in Love."

At five o’clock in the morning, Taron is awakened by the insistent screeching of his alarm and groans, expecting his mum going, _Taronnnnnn! Get up! Your sisters are already awake!_ or one of his roommates shouting, _Oi, come on! Don’t miss breakfast; there’s an exam today!_

No, no, not in his own one back home with enough duvets and pillows to cover a small army, or his creaky one by the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts that often had a grease-stained pizza box thrown in with the clothes and open textbooks. He’s in a _new_ bed that still vaguely smells of detergent, and he’s shooting a movie today.

_Kingsman._

Taron swings his legs over the edge and, despite his exhaustion, gets dressed and brushes his teeth in less than ten minutes. Hopefully, he can find an outlet on set to charge his mobile, since he’d been up since two AM watching random YouTube videos and replaying Colin’s voicemail.

Yes, Colin _Firth’s_ voicemail. To him, Taron Egerton of Aberystwyth.

He still can’t believe that he not only got such a big movie deal, but also met actors who, at first, seemed more like concepts than actual people. Taron nearly fell over when he saw Samuel Jackson chatting with Matthew about a scene, then later, when he, while discussing drama school with Sophie, spotted Mark Strong and Colin Firth good-naturedly bickering over movies. Not to mention on his first day of the round table readings, someone had said, “Now, Eggsy should look sort of anxious here, approaching the mirror in the dressing room,” and—no joke—Taron had briefly startled in his seat. Eggsy? Who?

Oh, that’s _him_. Lead role. In a major film. 

He keeps expecting to wake up, only to find that, yes, this is his life now, and he has no idea where he’s going to go next, which honestly terrifies him a bit. Taron’s always dreamed of the worst case scenario before the first day of school or the first day of shooting or first day of anything, and this time around is no different. When he finally got to sleep at four in the morning weeks ago, Taron ended up wandering through all the possible things that could go wrong, from forgetting his lines to showing up at the wrong place for filming to puking all over Michael Caine.

Colin had laughed in his dream, as Taron watched Michael Caine flee in disgust. _Don’t worry,_ he’d joked. _It’s probably not the first time this has happened, and certainly not the last. But I know you’ll do great tomorrow._

 _Tomorrow?_ Taron had wondered, then had woken up to a barely-charged phone, the voicemail icon still visible on screen, and felt ready to tackle the world.

 _Who needs coffee when you have Colin?_ Taron thought, and immediately groaned out loud, glad that there was no one around to hear him.

Today, while pouring himself a quick bowl of cereal, Taron plugs in his mobile for a quick charge to check to see which scenes he’s shooting today and freezes at two words:

_Train tracks._

_If you’re going to puke_ , his mates would say, _you might as well do it now before you get on stage._

Taron stares at his phone, half wanting to follow the advice, but can’t seem to commit to it.

Train tracks. Train tracks.

For his second scene with Colin.

Colin had been an absolute gentleman the first time, walking around with him on Savile Row while the crew set up, and it was almost pathetic how quickly Taron fell for him, like tripping and falling face-first onto pavement. It was easy to dismiss during the first few weeks—because according to Sophie’s idle discussion about _The Colin Firth Effect_ —every actor starring alongside Colin Firth became quickly infatuated. It was almost second nature, or some primal instinct, really. 

But it all began to add up: their lunches together, their easy laughter behind the scenes, their inside jokes, and Taron’s certain that some of his…infatuation is bleeding into Eggsy. Just a few weeks ago, he had to reshoot the pub scene (“You look really impressed, and that’s great, but look, this man can wipe the floor with six people, so imagine a little of what he could do to you.”) and the breakfast scene (“Look, Taron, you shouldn’t look so interested in oyster forks and all that. Eggsy’s trying to impress Harry, yeah, and trying to be attentive, but not _too much,_ yeah?”). Not to mention that when cameras were filming some interactions behind the set for the extras, Taron spent _way_ too much time praising Colin. Granted, nearly everyone had been doing the same, but when he was pretty sure he had a too-dopey, too-babbly, little interview.

He really hopes someone cut down the footage.

And just last night, when they were having some drinks after filming, Colin had smiled, and Taron had innocently gone home and dreamed of—

Well, better left unsaid.

Taron takes a deep breath.

So, he’s going to be strapped down to train tracks in front of Colin Firth?

As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

* * *

On set, an attendant greets him warmly, complains about the rain not letting up, and asks him if he’s nervous.

“A little,” Taron admits.

“I don’t blame you,” she says, and Taron resists wincing because _that_ is not comforting. “I mean, I’d collapse at the knees myself. Colin Firth, Mark Strong, Samuel Jackson, and _Sir Michael Caine_? Goodness.”

Taron tries not to laugh at the memories of Matthew’s own astonished face at the sight of the famous actor, as well as Sophie and Ed visibly trying not to drop their jaws at the sight of Colin Firth waiting for them at a table for lunch.

It’s that moment Taron chooses to tease Colin about after makeup and costumes have their way with him, and Colin sighs in response.

“Do tell me I’m not going to relive that unflattering mushy pea every day for the rest of my life.” His tone is amused, though, and Taron grins.

“You made the mushy pea bed, and you have to lie in it,” he replies, poking Colin in the chest. Colin’s wearing the heavy, black coat, with a fake knife in his right hand, but underneath, Taron knows he’s wearing the bespoke suit. He’s still not used to wearing stuff actually _tailored_ for him, so it all feels rather strange, but Colin doesn’t seem fazed, wearing the suits designed for him as easily as Taron wears jeans and a t-shirt.  

 _It’s not the suit,_ Colin commented, in a very Harry Hart way. _It’s the man inside it. If you feel confident, you’ll look your best, regardless if you’re in a suit or not._

 _Even in these things?_ Taron had asked, gesturing to his…sort of obnoxious-looking, flashy, plaque jacket and winged trainers. He was lucky that Matthew considered the matching trousers even too much for Eggsy.

Colin laughed. _They don’t look bad at all. Perhaps a bit loud, but there’s a certain charm to it._

Lightly nudging Colin in the side, Taron complained about him having a laugh, but inside, he couldn’t help but feel pleased, even though the logical part of his mind pointed out that Colin was complimenting his clothes, not necessarily him. 

“This, and Mr. Darcy,” Colin now sighs in response, putting his hands in his pockets. “Goodness, it’s drafty in here.”

Taron nods, trying not to shiver. He imagined being in a tunnel would be cold, but the rain outside might be a factor in making it even colder, and his jacket, which was to be unzipped anyway, isn’t exactly warm. Despite the bright lanterns hanging from the ceiling and projected near them, this is also a bit of a creepiness factor in being stuck underground, and Taron isn’t exactly looking forward to lying on dirty railroad tracks.

“If we didn’t have to shoot soon,” Colin says, “I’d offer you my coat.”

“Thank you, gallant sir,” Taron replies teasingly, trying not to wonder if he should shiver visibly near Colin when the scene is all wrapped up, and Colin mock-bows in response, smiling, having no idea that Taron’s entertaining the idea of getting Colin’s smile to become illegal or some form of harassment because, _honestly_ —

“Colin! Taron!” Matthew now calls, flagging them down, dressed warmly in a knit cap and jacket. “So, gents, you ready to shoot the train tracks scene?”

Taron wants to say, _No, not really,_ but he instead smiles and replies, “Yeah, of course, sure.” Beside him, Colin nods.

“Excellent!” Matthew exclaims, glancing at his tablet and tapping the screen. “We’re right on schedule today. Positions, everyone!”

With that, it’s a bit of chaos: Colin hustles off-camera, while everyone, all bundled up in puffy jackets, gathers around the tracks and start calling out, jabbing at their tablets, or pointing at various areas of the set. A few race to the cameras, Matthew’s gesturing for someone to come over, and Taron’s still standing, rather stupidly, in place.

Taron looks down at the tracks. “Should I just…lie down, then?” he asks.

“Oh, yes,” Matthew replies, ushering forward a guy with some rope coiled in his arms. “Just hold still; just worry, they’re not going to be too tight.”

With everyone watching, Taron slowly crouches, then awkwardly stretches out on the tracks, limbs spread like it says on the script. Luckily, the man is quick and efficient, and Taron keeps his eyes half-closed and pointed up at the ceiling, trying not to snicker at his mind’s _lie back, and think of England._ His heart jumps around, not just some a bit of stage fright, but also the buried, instinctual part that wants to struggle against being tied down like this, that wants to escape the tunnel and the eyes on him, that wants to hide.

He pointedly does not think of Colin, off to the side, watching him.

 _It’ll be over soon,_ he thinks. There aren’t that many lines to mix up. All he needs to do is scream at the top of his lungs and pretend he’s going to get cut in half by a moving train.  

“All right, everyone,” Matthew now says, “just to quickly recap: George, you’re going to be holding up the knife, and Taron, you’re basically going to curse at this man with everything you got, even though you’re terrified out of your bloody mind.”

Taron nods. He can do this. He can do this.

He lets his head loll back on the train, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the musty smell of the tunnel, the bright lights, the dust already tickling his nose. Hoping that he won’t sneeze in the middle of this take, Taron forces himself to get in the mindset of Eggsy, drugged and confused and starting to get a bit scared. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen. No script, no directors, nothing.

Just Eggsy, laying on the tracks.

“And…action!”

“Ugh,” Eggsy moans, stirring and trying to keep his eyes open, focused on the stranger standing above him on the platform. “Who the fuck are you?” He pulls at the ropes, testing them, mind going _no no no_. “Where am I?”

“This knife can save your life,” the man says, and as Eggsy blinks in confusion, the sound of a train and _brightness_ sends his adrenaline and fear into overdrive.  

“Fuck!” Eggsy swears, struggling with all his might against his restraints, looking down the tunnel, and trying to judge how long he’s got left, but he might die, he’s going to _die,_ like Amelia, and his body will be sent back to his poor mum—

“My employer’s got two questions for you, Eggsy: what the fuck is Kingsman? And who’s Harry Hart?”

Eggsy violently shakes his head because, _no._ He _won’t_ give up Kingsman, and he sure as _fuck_ won’t give up Harry, Harry, who’s done so much for him, already _means_ so much to him—

Harry with his warm, brown eyes and caring smile and—

Shit. _Shit._

“I don’t know who the fuck that is!” he cries, closing his eyes, heart like a jackhammer. He screams out a panicked curse, struggling even more against his restraints, hoping against hope that they’d break. 

The man laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, Eggsy, I just killed two of your friends who gave me the same bullshit answer!”

Eggsy screams another curse, begging, “Just cut the fucking ropes, please!”

He’s really going to die, isn’t he? He’s going to—

The interrogator laughs evilly. “Hey, Eggsy!” he crows. “Is Kingsman really worth dying for?”

Eggsy’s head falls back, his eyes screw shut, and his mouth blares, _“Fuck youuuuuuuuuuu!”_ as the train comes closer and closer and—

He’s not dead after all.

And suddenly, Harry Hart’s there, clutching a knife and looking down at him with a hint of a proud smile.

 _I’d never grass you up,_ Eggsy thinks, surprised at the vehemence of his words, _never._

“Congratulations,” Harry says, so calmly as if his proposal didn’t have one of the biggest scares of his life. “Bloody well done.”

Trying to have a semblance of calm, Eggsy asks, without a tremble in his voice, “How’d the others do?”

“Roxy passed with flying colors. Charlie’s up next. Want to watch?”

“Yeah, sure,” Eggsy mutters, and Harry moves closer—

Suddenly, there’s a commotion, voices murmuring, and Matthew shouting, “Scene!”

Colin then bends his knees so he’s in some sort of a squat, low enough to be able to look Taron in the eye, but not enough to get dirt on the bespoke suit. “You all right there?” he asks kindly.

Taron gives him what he hopes is a _no worries_ grin, but fears his smile is a touch too wobbly for that, considering he’s _still_ strapped to these bloody rails. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he says, but his mind is still trying to follow what just happened in his headspace on the tracks.

 _Eggsy’s in love with Harry,_ he realizes. _Which means—_

_Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no—_

“All right, everyone, ready for take two?” Matthew calls, standing over Taron with a hand on his chin and looking thoughtful. “Sorry, Taron—still got your voice?”

Taron forces a grin. “Yup,” he says, and the chaos begins anew, everyone scrambling to their places, leaving Taron still tied down to the tracks and in considerably worse shape than before.

 _Well,_ he thinks to himself as Colin shoots him a quick smile before disappearing around the corner. _Fuck._


End file.
